


A Conversation

by HoodedAndromeda



Series: "Doctor Faustus" Modern AU [2]
Category: Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Human Relationships, Angst, Arguing, Crying, Demon Mephistopheles, F/M, Fighting, Former Friendships, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guardian Angels, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Heavy Angst, Mentions of Damnation, Mentions of hell, Protective Good Angel, Regretful Mephistopheles, Sympathetic Good Angel, Upset Mephistopheles, Vomiting, mentions of God - Freeform, mentions of heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodedAndromeda/pseuds/HoodedAndromeda
Summary: "Our Father wants every one of His children to come home. You know that." Mephistopheles snorted."Well, this one won't be going home.""And you don't care..."***Mephistopheles and the Good Angel have a difficult late-night chat.





	A Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> "Time and again boys are raised to be men  
> Impatient they start, fearful at the end  
> But here was a man mourning tomorrow  
> Who drank, but finally drowned in his sorrow
> 
> He could not break surface tension  
> He looked in the wrong place for redemption  
> Don't look at me with those eyes  
> I tried to unheave the ties  
> Turn back the time that drew him  
> But he couldn't be saved  
> A sadness runs through him  
> Through him"
> 
> \- "A Sadness Runs Through Him" The Hoosiers

"He's running out of time," the angel lifted her head when he spoke, "he can't be saved." Obscured by shadows, Mephistopheles began to gnaw on the black nails of his right hand, his hard, yellow eyes boring holes into the sleeping shape of Faustus. The angel gently brushed a stray tuft of brown hair away from Faustus' face.

"Twelve years is more than enough time." She answered, stroking her ward’s cheek with a knuckle. Mephistopheles scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall.

"So why hasn't he repented yet?" Mephistopheles asked, already knowing the answer. Her silver stare held his amber gaze for a long moment, and she found herself remembering how his irises had once burned a brilliant white-gold.

"His heart is hard now, but it can be softened again," her words brought goosebumps to life on the back of Faustus' neck, "through our Father, all things are possible." Mephistopheles narrowed his eyes.

" _Your_ Father, you mean," The demon corrected, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling, "He isn't my Father. Hasn't been for a long time." His speech trembled with the weight of his words, and the angel's bright eyes grew heavy with drops of starlight for her lost brother. 

"Mephisto..." she breathed, turning away from the creature in the corner. Faustus groaned softly in his sleep, nuzzling his face into his angel's hip. She fixed the blanket up around his shoulders.

"What?" Mephistopheles barked, leaping up from his spot in the corner. Suddenly he was close enough to be illuminated by the light that she cast, his features washed out by its brilliance, "'Mephisto' what?" She remained quiet. "I know—it was _my_ decision. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?" He growled. A shudder ran through Faustus' body. Stained by the glow of Heaven, Mephistopheles' voice lost its artificial humanity and crackled with hellfire. "Well, you're right," Mephistopheles spat, the whites of his eyes going dark, "it was! It was my decision, and I've been paying for it ever since! And in twelve years, Faustus will pay for it too!" A harsh laugh burst from his lungs accompanied by a spurt of thick black liquid that spattered the bed and burned pinprick holes in the sheets.

The angel pulled the form of Faustus, who she now thought must have been enchanted to sleep so deeply, closer to her. Mephistopheles wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then did the same to his eyes, which seeped the same liquid. He sniffled. She was overwhelmed with pity at the sight of him, even less than a shadow of his former self. She could hardly believe there had been a time when he had radiated with perfect love. It pained her to know that this miserable creature was circling her sweet John, her beloved Faustus, waiting to make him suffer the same pain that he, Mephistopheles, would suffer for eternity.

"John is still his Father's son," she said, "he can come home whenever he likes. All he has to do is ask." Mephistopheles began biting his claws again, shaking his head. He almost looked as if he was trying to tear his nails out. He spoke around the fingers in his mouth.

"He won'. Pride hath too thtrong a gri' on 'im." She had to admit, he had a point. Greed and Lust each had scored their claws through his soul, but Pride had made a very comfortable nest within Faustus. It would be extremely difficult to expel the Sin from his heart. It would take mere seconds to send Mephistopheles on his way—but Pride?

"He will always grapple with Pride, yes, but the hold can be loosened by love." Another strangled laugh forced its way out of the demon's throat, shortly followed by the sounds of dry heaving. This was too much for him. When her competitor was present, Mephistopheles could stand his ground. There was strength in numbers after all, and although the angel's counterpart was not exactly the same as Mephistopheles, she was close enough. But here, with her, alone?

"It won't—won't be. D-on't you get it?" He coughed, gripping the foot of the bed as he doubled over, "You've lost him! The Jo-ohn Faustus you knew is gone, dead and—and rotting! This Faustus will not repent—he ca-n't!" Mephistopheles retched, gooey strings of shadow falling from his mouth and onto the ground, searing spots onto the hardwood, "Not... while he... while he still th-inks he... he can be his own... his own g-god." The angel flinched. Again, the demon was right. He was kneeling on the floor now, still gripping the sheets with one hand and his stomach with the other. He was taking shallow, sticky breaths. She didn't understand why he didn't just leave the her and Faustus alone. Mephistopheles knew as well as she did that his heart was not in winning this petty argument. All he cared about was ensuring the opportunity to torture a soul who couldn't help but make the same mistakes that he had.

"And why do you think he won't come to his senses?" She replied coolly, carefully rolling Faustus onto his back. She stood up on the bed, now regaining sight of the pitiful creature curled up on the cold bedroom floor. Mephistopheles hissed, struggling to his hands and knees.

"Because I'm here," he spat, dirty fangs barred, "do you think I'd waste my time on someone capable of repentance?" His aggressive stance dropped for just a moment, and for the second time in twelve years, she saw a hauntingly familiar melancholy cloud his fiery eyes, "He'll die for his pride... just like the rest of us." He almost sounded regretful. His gaze drifted to Faustus curled up in his bed, and suddenly the demon was filled with passionate anger again, "I told him— _I told him_!" He cried, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair as he shook his head violently from side to side, "I made him feel it, made him hear it, and _still_ he signed!" A wail not unlike that of a cat being hit by a car ripped from his throat as a fresh stream of bitter tar tears slipped down his cheeks, "Do you really _want_ a soul like _that_?" His cry changed to a hoarse chuckle as Mephistopheles let himself collapse, falling heavily onto his back. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to the sockets, no longer able to bring himself to look at the angel. 

"Our Father wants every one of His children to come home. You know that." Mephistopheles snorted.

"Well, this one won't be going home." 

"And you don't care..." Her own words were beginning to grow unsteady, shaken by idea that anyone who had ever known God could want to deprive another of His love. Mephistopheles sighed, rolling on to his stomach. He laid face-down on the floor, staying quiet for what felt like an eternity as he worked to steady his breathing.

"He made his choice, just like the rest of us." He finally spoke, the demonic reverb slowly fading as he regained his composure, "Why should he evade punishment while we live in misery?" The angel stepped lightly off the mattress and settled herself on the floor, kneeling beside the demon. The acrid smell of the liquid sin staining the hardwood burned her chest. A small part of her wanted to reach out, to run her fingers over his dark hair, to brush her wings across his back, but she knew her touch would only cause him further agony rather than the comfort that she would have meant to provide. Her wings folded around her, their iridescent feathers framing her shining face.

"He is one of Father's creations, Mephisto," she reminded him, "he was made for love." Mephistopheles shot up, pounding his fist on the floor as he gnashed yellow knife teeth.

"He doesn't deserve it!" He howled, molten eyes rolling in their sockets. The little demon was seething with rage, the greyish tear-tracks on his cheeks boiling against his skin. She shrugged, turning her head to gaze upon her slumbering Faustus once more. 

"No. But it doesn't matter." Her voice was firm. They both knew Mephistopheles was right. "You know how He works. You know that this is not up to either one of us. So why drag him down to your level?" Mephistopheles stayed silent. She could hear his claws scrabbling at the floor, feel his stare heat her wings. "Father loved you, too, Mephisto," The scratching paused, "you made your decision a very long time ago." The ghost of a whimper caught in his throat as she got to her feet, "Just because you made the wrong choice doesn't mean that he has to follow in your footsteps." She floated back to the head of the bed, and kneeled at the edge of the mattress to whisper encouragement and promises of mercy into Faustus' dreams. A weak laugh forced its way out of Meph. He crawled to the doorway, using the wall as support as he pulled himself to his feet. His body convulsed three times, and with another expulsion of hot, black vomit, he was suddenly, deceptively, human again.

"You're right," The musicality of his human voice would never cease to stun her, "but it doesn't change a thing." He laughed again, the sound far stronger than it had been moments before. "He was damned from the moment he spoke my name."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lately, I've been considering what the relationships between Faustus' angels and Mephistopheles might be like. I think there might be some mutual sympathies and frustrations between Meph and the Good Angel, specifically. This was the product of those thoughts. Hope you enjoyed <3


End file.
